


Lock the World Outside

by kerithwyn



Series: Beyond the Fringe: Tales from the Kinkmeme [14]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Fringe Kink Meme, Gratuitous comic book references, M/M, Mild D/s, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Lee needs distraction. Lincoln provides it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lock the World Outside

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elfin for block-breaking consult, and samjohnsson for beta.
> 
> I started writing this during early season 4, back when I thought Fringe Division Over There was also in Boston and before Peter returned, if context was needed. But it’s not. ;) Lincoln’s assumed background in this fic was jossed by s4, as well.
> 
> Written for the [Fringe kinkmeme](http://fringe-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/) using the following prompt:
> 
> Red Lincoln/Blue Lincoln  
> Red Lincoln, just a little bit heartbroken over Red Olivia and maybe a bit drunk  
> Blue Lincoln also a bit drunk and just a bit more adventurous ;)  
> shenanigan ensues and takes place Over There.

Agent Broyles finally gets fed up with the haphazard contact between Fringe teams and arranges a meeting, a mixer of sorts, in the bridge room. It's Broyles and Lincoln and Olivia and Astrid (Walter, of course, refuses to leave the lab) on one side, Colonel Broyles and Captain Lee and Agent Dunham and Looker Farnsworth and Agent Francis on the other (Secretary Bishop, of course, refuses to lower himself).

They all stand awkwardly staring at each other until Olivia shrugs and walks over to bicker with her alternate; Francis sighs and follows to mediate. The two Astrids catch each other's eyes and smile, then begin talking in multiple languages and what might actually be computer code. Broyles and Broyles meet like an immovable object and an unstoppable force, yet somehow end up talking like old friends so easily that everyone else in the room pauses to watch them, fascinated. Lincoln and Captain Lee are left circling each other, neither entirely sure of their footing.

Like wolves trying to figure out who's the alpha, Lincoln thinks, amused.

But they have a lot in common and no particular reason for animosity, so it's an interesting evening comparing life experiences. Quite a few match up, although the ones that don't are both intriguing and distressing. Lincoln was an only child, orphaned as a teenager by a car crash. Captain Lee's father died only last year, his mother is still alive, and he has a brother.

They both collected comics as kids, were both science geeks, always knew what they wanted to be when they grew up. They've dated women and men, although Captain Lee a considerably greater number of both.

They both have a tendency to fall in love with their partners, it seems. Lee talks a little about Charlie and Liv; Lincoln talks less about Robert, still grieving. 

The allotted time flies by faster than expected and the bridge is shut down for the night. Everyone says their goodbyes cordially enough and Agent Broyles deems the evening a success. Lincoln goes home with a lot to think about, and more questions than he had going in. But he's already realized that's a hazard of working where he is now.

***

Sometime later it's his turn in the other-universe barrel when cross-referencing the files that have been traded between teams uncovers that one of the cases Lincoln had previously investigated is relevant to the other side. He passes through the bridge, gets a half-dozen inoculations against diseases long eradicated or non-viral in his world, and is transported nearly so fast his head spins to Fringe Headquarters in Boston. 

It's...fascinating.

He winces a little at the thought, but this is a _Star Trek_ scenario if ever there was one. The little things catch him the most: the absence of paper or pens, the proliferation of personal electronics. Everyone has an ear cuff and an iPad-equivalent that looks about six generations past the ones he's seen at home. 

And then there's the handful of big things, like the Twin Towers still standing. That had him craning his neck backward in the 'copter, staring until they were long out of sight.

His consultation with the Fringe team turns out to be anticlimactic; there are enough variations in the two similar-but-not-identical cases to make his contribution irrelevant. It's disappointing not to be able to help, of course, but Lincoln isn't at all sad to have had the chance to visit this world. 

He's seeing more points of divergence now. He's gotten to know his own fellow agents better, and that gives him a clearer understanding of how their alternates differ. He never knew Charlie on his side but Broyles is mainly the same, Farnsworth entirely different. Dunham is...both at the same time, her physical style and mode far more expressive, her mental processes mirroring what he's seen from Olivia.

Captain Lee is still gregarious, charming, amusing. But there's something subdued about him this time that his division fellows haven't seemed to notice.

The gossip from other Fringe agents fills him in. Agent Francis got married, and the division just threw Agent Dunham an engagement party. Lincoln sees it: Captain Lee had been involved with his two partners, and now they'd moved on and left him alone. The restrained manner suddenly makes sense.

It's late enough when they're done grilling him that no one wants to make the trip back to the bridge. Lincoln glances around for his alternate, hoping they'd have a chance to continue the dialogue they've been trading over a half-dozen brief meetings, but he's disappeared. One of the agents tells him that she spotted him heading out the door to a local pub where some of them gather after work, and she kindly escorts him down the street.

He finds Captain Lee in the bar. By the way he's slumping on his stool the guy's already had a few, maybe more than a few.

Even his hair looks deflated.

Lincoln makes his way over. Despite being under the influence, his double's senses still are on high alert. 

"Hey, Clark."

Lincoln just sighs. It's not the first time he's heard it, and it won't be the last. But-- in this case, the jibe might actually be _useful._ "Hello yourself, Kal."

The other man pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth. "I don't know which is worse, that you knew that piece of geekery, or that I know what you're talking about."

"Is there really a worse there?" Lincoln sits and raises his hand to the bartender. Courtesy of Colonel Broyles he's been spotted a little bit of cash, a voucher for a local hotel. "What's so bad about being a geek? We rule the world, haven't you heard?"

"Maybe _your_ world," Captain Lee snarks. 

The bartender arrives with a beer and does a double take at the two of them, but doesn't ask any questions. Lincoln sees his alternate watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

"So, the suit. Is that, like, hot schoolteacher fantasy?"

He's testing, pushing, trying to find a limit. Lincoln's not even close to his. "Do you want it to be?"

Captain Lee laughs, but there's an edge to it Lincoln doesn't entirely like. "Is this answer-every-question-with-a-question day? The buttoned-up look isn't really my thing, man, but maybe it works for you." He takes another swallow, waves the bottle vaguely. "It does work for you."

"Thank you," Lincoln says solemnly. He clinks his bottle against the other man's randomly swinging one and takes a sip and then another, surprised. The beer's sweeter than he'd expected, and very different. But tasty. "Our FBI doesn't have the...leeway your Fringe Division has. But I was thinking about relaxing the standards a bit, given what we're encountering. I might invest in a pile of cargo pants."

"Very comfortable," Captain Lee advises. "But I warn you, if you want to complete the transformation, the hair takes _practice._ "

Lincoln never really had any intention of going that far. "I think it'd take more than a change of outfit for that level of...makeover."

"I'm not Superman," Captain Lee mutters, sinking even lower on his stool. "Can't stop a speeding train. Can't even get the girl."

The door is open for the discussion, at least. "I heard the news."

Lee looks sideways at him. "She wasn't ever mine, you know. She was with Frank before we ever met."

"But you've been casually sleeping with her and your other partner for a few years, and you fell in love with her, and no one could blame you for that." Lincoln can't either, even on short association with his own Olivia. She's...eminently fall-in-lovable-with. Even without the extra benefits enjoyed by the team on this side.

Captain Lee groans and completes his journey, his head thunking down on the bar. "God, I just want to forget about all this for awhile."

Those are magic words Lincoln knows precisely how to answer.

"I know what you need." Lee's head snaps back up at the tone, as he'd intended. Lincoln holds his other self's gaze steadily. "I can take care of you, if you let me."

Lee stares at him for a moment, then laughs. "Wow. That was inevitable, I guess. Funny, I thought it'd be me making the first move."

Lincoln smiles slightly, because now they're just negotiating over terms. "You're sure about this?"

Captain Lee snorts at him. "I'm drinking in a bar. I was going to go home with someone. Might as well be...me."

***

Captain Lee's condo is in the same area of Boston where Lincoln is now renting an apartment on the other side. It's not the same place, or even on the same block, but clearly they both liked the atmosphere of the neighborhood. It's also a clear indicator, Lincoln thinks wryly, that Fringe agents on this side draw a bigger paycheck.

He recognizes the décor, if not the specific furniture; the place is decorated in Early Bachelor, random pieces picked out at whim with no care for color or matching. "Make yourself at home," Lee waves vaguely at the room, and Lincoln takes the opportunity to examine the personal objects strewn around for any identical to his own.

A wall shelf of primary colors draws his attention and he's delighted to see it's a small selection of action figures. He'd given his up a long time ago, but he knows them all: Superman, Batman--Lincoln blinks, looks closer-- _Red_ Arrow instead of Green. 

"Hey. Can we get started?" 

Lee doesn't look like he's in a particularly amorous mood, but Lincoln thinks that'll change quickly once they both get in the game. "You're still sure?"

Now Lee just looks impatient. "I just need to know if I call you 'Master.' Or 'Sir.'"

"God, no." In a way, though, it's reassuring because he's heard that kind of response before: Lee wants to put all his troubles aside for awhile and this is the easiest way for him to do it. Which actually does beg other questions, but--

Out of the blue, Lee starts laughing. "You really could be 'Clark.' Pseudo-Superman identity porn. I love it. Please?"

Lincoln groans, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are the biggest nerd I have ever met. And that includes me. All right, fine. 'Kal.'"

Lee actually giggles and if it wasn't so cute, Lincoln might be rethinking this whole thing. "--I thought I was supposed to be the one setting the parameters here. Are you always so pushy?"

"Yep. Pushy bottom, Charlie always says." Lee winces a little, his expression turning melancholy. "Said."

And that's just-- he refuses to think "fascinating" again. _Interesting,_ that Lee self-identifies that way. But Lincoln's got to get this show going before Lee's mood taints the scene. "Safe word?"

It's _hilarious,_ suddenly, and they both look at each other with what Lincoln is pretty sure are identically wry expressions. Lee flaps a hand and says, "If I can't trust _you_...but all right. Let's go with 'Lane.'"

"...like a street? Or the reporter?"

"Like a guy," Lee says shortly, and it's brusque enough that Lincoln doesn't press further.

"All right." Lincoln changes his posture suddenly, demanding attention. "Can you keep your eyes closed or do I need to blindfold you?"

"You can if you want," Lee says, eyeing his tie. "But tell me to keep 'em closed and I will. Can I talk?"

"I probably couldn't stop you without a gag," Lincoln says, and laughs as Lee, of course, points toward a drawer near the couch. "No, that won't be necessary."

\--then it catches up to him, the contradiction there. "...and how the hell were you supposed to use your safe word if I _did_ gag you?"

Lee just looks at him, the implication clear. Lee doesn't think he _needs_ the out, he's willing to trust that much, and that's just...unacceptable. Inexplicable and fundamentally horrifying to Lincoln's every sensibility. He wants to ask if Lee's ever really gone that far, given himself over to someone without any safeguard, but he's not sure he can handle the answer.

And besides, they're ready to begin.

"Close your eyes and strip," Lincoln says, and Lee obeys immediately.

He's pleased to see that Lee isn't a muscled demigod under the leather jacket and cargo pants. More like Adonis, fit and slim...and not all that different from what Lincoln sees in the mirror. Lee might be the action hero, but Lincoln runs a couple of miles every day he can and tries to get to the gym whenever there's a gap in his schedule. Lee's definitely more toned, but Lincoln doesn't feel inadequate in comparison.

"Kal," he says experimentally, getting a feel for it. Nope, still goofy. But he might not have to use it that much. "You don't get to ask for anything or do anything unless I tell you. Clear?"

"Clear."

There should have been something else there. "Who am I?"

"My mild-mannered alter-ego," Lee says, with a look of defiant glee, and Lincoln smiles. The feistiness is good, the impertinence is healthy. His double isn't broken, just hurt. Although it's ironic that Lee chose that as his testing moment, considering he's the one who wanted those aliases.

Lincoln walks quietly over to the bookshelf, not answering, and takes a few minutes to read over titles, comparing them with those in his memory. Some aren't relevant, of course, like the Fringe-specific treatises, but there are a couple of books that don't match the authors he knows from his side. He waits long enough to hear Lee shift slightly, then says, "Try again."

"Clark," Lee says instantly, and now he's got it. Lincoln's never been much for the punishment part of the scene; they're both here to play, by mutually agreed-on rules, and all he has to do is walk away if the other person doesn't behave. Or maybe "perform" is a better word.

He scrutinizes the man standing naked before him, contemplating the differences between him and this...double. Alternate. Other _him._ He's also thinking about himself, how unlikely he is to be in that position. Wondering what the discrepancy was to make them dissimilar in this way.

"Tell me..." he finds himself searching for words and this is already turning into something unlike any scene he's ever been involved with before. Why had he assumed it'd be the same, face to face with himself? "...how is this so easy for you?"

Lee seems taken aback by the question. Or maybe by the fact that he hasn't been immediately groped. "...I don't know? It just is."

Could never be that simple. But he still needs a moment to think. "I'm looking at you," Lincoln says. "Tell me what I see."

He sees Lee instinctively lift up, putting himself on display. "I'm an attractive guy. I'd do me." He pauses. "I guess technically--"

"All right," Lincoln says mildly, and Lee smirks. "Without commentary, please."

Lee begins a loving description of his attributes, but it's not his words Lincoln's interested in as much as his demeanor.

This scene is going to be interesting because he doubts there's anything he can ask that this man hasn't done already, multiple times, and of his own will. Lincoln can tell him to open his mouth and swallow him down, and he will without choking. Lincoln can tell him to get himself off with hands or toys, and he will. He'd play orgasm denial games until his balls turned blue, possibly literally. He would take fingers without complaint, a whole hand even. There's very little that would humiliate him, or even make him blush. He'd do any of those things without the construct of the scene.

The only thing he might have trouble with, Lincoln thinks wryly, is staying silent. But Lincoln's not sure that's what he wants, either. The trick is getting to something more vulnerable, something he hides.

He wants to keep this easy, he decides. Captain Lee just needs to be taken out of his head for awhile, not utterly subjugated. Lincoln doesn't want to see his other self subjugated, even if that's possible. 

He does want to shake Lee's equanimity, if nothing else.

The litany is winding down. "Stay there," Lincoln tells him. "Think about...what you like, how you like to be touched. Keep your hands where they are." He watches for a second, seeing Lee's lips turn up in a smile, and goes to check out the rest of the condo.

The front rooms are pleasant, but the real attraction is in the back. He's not surprised to see that Lee's bed is gigantic, but it's the bathtub--practically an indoor hot tub--that really impresses. It's large enough to hold three people, four if they're friendly, and he has no doubt it's done just that on occasion.

The tub also has an intricate display for filling and temperature control. Lincoln studies the panel for a moment, hits two points on the touch screen, and walks back out into the living room.

Lee's still where he was, but he's swaying slightly and at full attention. Lincoln watches him, feeling his clothing too tight around him, and strips down right there knowing Lee will hear the sounds of fabric hitting the floor. 

"One hand. Show me what you're thinking."

To his surprise, Lee's hand doesn't immediately go to his cock. He lifts it to his mouth, where he licks and then his hand drops to tease at a nipple. 

Lincoln moves closer, close enough that Lee can feel his heat. Without preamble his thumb swipes over the head of Lee's cock, gathering the fluid there. Lee's hips jolt toward him, nearly touching, and then he gets himself under control. Lincoln smiles and touches his thumb to Lee's lips. "Taste."

Lee's tongue laps at his thumb eagerly, reaching for more, trying to suck. "Okay," Lincoln says, more unsteadily than he'd intended. "Enough. Let me guide you."

He puts his hand to the back of Lee's neck and starts walking him toward the bathroom; it's not really a surprise where they're going, and Lee has apparently already mapped out his apartment by footsteps as well as sight. Lincoln taps Lee's leg for him to step into the tub, then follows, dropping his glasses on the countertop. He pulls Lee down to rest against him, full length. They fit, of course.

They float, Lincoln feeling unwanted tension flow out of them both. A random fragment of lyric goes through his mind, and hell, Lee won't criticize. He sings softly into Lee's ear, in what he's been told is a passable tenor: _"There was a boy, A very strange, enchanted boy...."_

Lee picks it right up, like Lincoln had hoped he would. Lee's voice, maybe his own voice, is more melodious than he'd thought. _"They say he wandered very far, very far, Over land and sea...."_ he stops, laughing. "I wanted to fuck every single character in that movie so bad."

Lincoln can't help but laugh too because, well, yes. He strokes his hand over Lee's chin, the stubble more prominent now than his usual stylish shadow. He'd already glanced through Lee's bathroom cabinet, only a little disappointed not to find one particular item. But he can improvise. 

"I wish you had a straight razor. I'd start here," Lincoln says as he touches the tip of a fingernail against Lee's throat, which obligingly stretches out for him. "And drag it up, over and over." His nail traces the lines while Lee holds perfectly still, as if Lincoln really did have a blade to his throat. "It would be very sharp."

Lee moans, almost inaudibly, still motionless. 

He needs to stop a moment because, good lord. He splays his hand across Lee's chest. "You'd really let me."

Not even a breath of hesitation. "Yes."

"You trust everyone you bring here that far?"

"No, I don't." Lee tilts his head up so that he'd be looking at Lincoln if his eyes were open and adds, "I'm honestly not that reckless. Despite what you might have heard."

And despite his incautious offer of the gag, before. But maybe that was just a momentary lapse. 

He tweaks a nipple and Lee twitches, sending water sloshing but not going over the high sides of the tub. "I'm surprised you don't have piercings." Not even holes in his ears, which is a little surprising.

Lee huffs a laugh. "Protocol. It's a bad idea in case we run into a magnetic vortex."

And, well. That makes sense. It's a very small reminder that Lee's world is so much more dangerous than his own, that Lee's job is shockingly hazardous even by the most extreme standards. Maybe it's no wonder that Lee needs this kind of distraction, or that he's willing to give up control, if the rest of his life is spent working under the strict regulations necessary to keep him and his team alive.

Maybe the answer really is just as simple as that.

The water is still warm--Lincoln is becoming very jealous of these minor technological marvels--but time is ticking. He urges Lee to his feet and gets them both safely onto the bathroom rug. The temperature in here is comfortable enough that he can linger, watching the beads of water dripping down Lee's body, while Lee stands easy and waits for his next command.

He puts a towel into Lee's hand. "Dry me off." Lincoln closes his own eyes, enjoying the sensation of Lee rubbing him down, the feeling of hands other than his own on his skin. It's been so damn long, his world shrinking in the last few years to the twin poles of his job and Robert and his family. He loves both, but he'd rather the job not devour his whole life and he couldn't _touch_ Robert, not the way he'd really wanted to. 

Something inside him starts to unravel. This time is supposed to be for Lee, but Lincoln hadn't realized how much he needs it, too.

He opens his eyes to see Lee kneeling at his feet and it would be easy, so damn easy to tell Lee to suck him, easy to fuck his mouth as hard as he wanted because Lee would never back down--

Lincoln reaches down and hauls Lee to his feet, pushing him back against the wall. There's a convenient towel bar and he lifts Lee's hands to grasp it, fairly sure it's been used for this purpose before. "Don't let go. And I want to hear you."

He drops to his own knees, grateful for the somehow still-dry rug. At least half the point of this is to do whatever he wants with Lee's body and right now, this is what he wants. He leans in, getting the scent of clean skin and musk underneath, not familiar because why should they smell alike, springing from in two different worlds?

Lincoln runs his tongue up the underside of Lee's cock and the resultant cry is both loud and gratifying. The command, he realizes, was probably superfluous; he should have guessed that Lee would be noisy. He's beginning to envy that lack of restraint, too.

So now it's a challenge he makes to himself, to see what kind of noises he can evoke, as well as a perverse way of regaining his own sense of control. Given the way Lee's already trembling against him, trying not to thrust, Lincoln has no doubt at all that he's the one in charge.

To underscore the point he begins again in earnest, slow and gentle, testing Lee's sensitivity to teeth and touch. And again, discovering the differences between them is just...well, hell, it _is_ fascinating, Lincoln can't pretend otherwise. Lee shivers to different pressures and moans at unexpected touches. When Lincoln’s exploration evokes a high-pitched whine, he smiles to himself in satisfaction and does his best to replicate the reaction. 

Lee’s sounds turn to open-mouthed gasps and Lincoln understands that Lee's taken his command to heart: He's not going to come until Lincoln tells him too. 

His obedience is pleasing--surprising, actually--but torturing Lee isn't part of this.

Lincoln licks at him again, then stands up and leans in close to Lee's ear, a hairsbreadth from his skin. "When I touch you again, you can let go." He pauses, feeling ridiculous, but this is Lee’s game too. "Kal."

He waits, close enough to feel Lee's panting breaths against his face and see him quivering. Lincoln reaches down and gives a firm stroke and Lee shouts and comes, twitching in his hand. Lincoln always loves that, seeing his partner's face, hearing his pleasure. Only this time it’s even kinkier, seeing that expression on his reflection's face.

Lincoln holds him lightly, idly stroking through the aftershocks. Lee’s hands on the bar must be cramping by now, he’s been holding on so tight. "I'm sure you can find your way to your bedroom. Go and wait for me."

Lee nods and goes, moving cautiously, while Lincoln takes a minute to clean up and regain his equilibrium. He knew this scene would be different, because he was different. Some doms looked only to their own pleasure, using the submissive body however they wanted. Lincoln prefers to explore his partner's depths, to discover what he or she really wants.

It would be almost useless to ask Lee what he wants, because "everything" is so very nonspecific.

He walks into the bedroom and nearly laughs, because even without talking, Lee's made it obvious what he wants.

Lee is sprawled on the bed, face down and legs slightly spread, an obvious invitation. 

It’s more than a little humbling. Lee’s offered himself without reservation, and it's Lincoln's responsibility to see that his trust is warranted. It's still kind of mind-blowing, that trust being offered in the first place, and never mind that they're the same person from two different universes; they've already seen how alternates can differ in significant, sometimes opposite ways. Lee has no way of knowing he's not a-- a serial killer, or a secret sadist.

The fact that the thought is so ridiculous is probably a good indicator to why Lee had no reservations about the scene. But the deliberate vulnerability is still a puzzle Lincoln can't see the shape of, when all his life he's had to correct precisely that kind of assumption. Young-looking features, the glasses, the suits and polite manner: they all create an understated, nonthreatening picture, useful in his work more often than not. Outside of work, though, it's a different matter, and he wonders ruefully if a leather jacket and hair gel would, in fact, project a more appropriate image.

On the other hand it's camouflage of a kind, the same way that Lee's brash exterior contradicts his apparent need to be--dominated isn't the right word. Lincoln had it earlier: Lee doesn't want to be in charge when he doesn't have to be. A mirror image, their desires twinned but reversed, and that makes as much sense as anything. 

Seeing Lee spread out for him reminds Lincoln of something he’d noticed before: There should be scars. Lincoln has heard enough about Lee’s past missions that he knows there should be scars. But Lee’s skin is unmarred, the result of the nanite treatments used over here for critical injuries. The tiny machines fix everything, leaving the agents with no reminders of past traumas. On the outside, at least.

He takes a moment to look through Lee’s bedside cabinet, finding a wonderland of toys in the drawers. For a moment Lincoln can only stare at them, a little stunned by the images that spring to mind, and the intense desire to throw himself heedlessly at the body on the bed is difficult to stave off. He takes a deep breath and picks up a marked bottle of odorless liquid, and resolutely shuts the cabinet doors. Later for some of that. Maybe.

Lincoln swings himself onto the bed to straddle Lee, gritting his teeth slightly at the feel of skin against skin. He puts his hands on Lee's back, feeling him arch subtly into the contact. So he's not the only one starved for touch, despite the assumptions about Lee's extracurricular life. That makes his next move clearer, and he cracks open the bottle of massage oil to pour over his hands.

When his fingers dig into Lee’s shoulders, Lee lets out an appreciative groan. And a moment later, Lee’s muffled voice says, surprised, “You know what you’re doing.”

Lincoln grins smugly, though Lee can’t see it. “I’m a couple of hours short of full certification. You’d be surprised how often the talent comes in handy.”

“Hell of a seduction technique, as if you needed one,” Lee says, and moans as Lincoln’s hands press into his neck. 

He’d had every intention of going slow, running his hands over Lee and working out all the knots Lee didn’t know he had, but the sounds he’s making and the feel of his body under Lincoln’s are just too much. His self-discipline should be better than this, but under these unique circumstances, Lincoln feels the breach is excusable.

“Sit up,” he says, moving off and keeping his words short because he doesn’t trust his voice. Lee does, his eyes still obediently closed, his body eager. 

Lincoln takes his hand, laying it against his own chest. “Touch me,” he says, fighting to keep his voice level and maintain some façade of control, “like you would touch yourself.”

It’s a measure of Lee’s commitment to the game that he starts to lean in for a kiss, then checks himself. His hand against Lincoln’s chest flexes, and then he shakes his head. “Position’s off. I should move around...?” At least he makes it a question, mindful of the directive not to act without Lincoln’s command.

Lincoln feels like any pretense of his authority has left this scene, but if Lee is still willing to go along, he certainly is. He shifts himself so that Lee’s pressed up against his back. “Better?”

“Perfect,” Lee says and just like in the living room his hand comes up, this time to Lincoln’s mouth. Lincoln licks obligingly and Lee’s hand drops to tease at his nipple. It’s close to the way Lincoln would touch himself, but not exactly the same--a little lighter, maybe, a little more deliberately sensual.

Lee’s hand wanders downward, stroking over his stomach, beginning to skim the line of hair leading down to his groin. There’s an implicit question in the motion, but Lincoln doesn’t say a word, so Lee proceeds with his last instruction.

“The oil?” Lee says in his ear, and Lincoln looks around to see where he’d dropped it. He pours some into Lee’s outstretched palm and throws his head back, resting it on Lee’s shoulder, as Lee’s hand drops to his cock. 

“Tell me what you feel,” Lincoln mutters, and what he really means is all tangled up in his head.

“Clark,” Lee says in his ear, sounding unsteady, and then a rush of words: “I-- your cock in my hand, so hard, doesn’t feel like mine except it fits my hand the same way, and I can feel you shaking like I do when I’m close, and I can’t tell you all the things I want you to do to me--”

Lincoln turns suddenly, pushing Lee back down again. He pins Lee to the bed, or Lee lets himself be pinned, there’s no difference at all at this instant. Lincoln leans down, licking at the curve of Lee’s hip and then sucking hard, wanting to mark him, to create a tangible physical difference between them for at least a few days. Lee is groaning, trying not to arch into his mouth, and Lincoln’s done with restraint.

He doesn’t quite throw himself onto Lee but it’s a close thing; he winds up sprawled full-length on top of Lee, already starting to thrust mindlessly against Lee’s body. Lee’s trembling under him, and Lincoln belatedly remembers to moan, “Come on, touch me.”

Lee’s hands come up to his shoulders and they roll without care for who ends up on top, rubbing off on each other, like when Lincoln was in college and trying to figure things out for the first time with Steve down the hall. It's messy and inelegant and perfect.

"I was wrong," Lee gasps, open-mouthed against Lincoln’s skin, "about the 'mild-mannered' part."

Lincoln grinds against him hard, his whole body tensing, and comes with spine-shuddering force, spilling against Lee’s skin and hearing Lee crying out with his own release. He doesn’t fall as much as collapse, overwhelmed not just by the physical intensity but the emotional reverberations. It had been easy to think of Lee like an experiment in separation, the id to Lincoln's ego, but there was nothing organized or rational about his responses now; Lincoln had lost control of the scene almost from the moment it started, and that had everything to do with the man lying under him.

Maybe it had been foolish to expect anything else.

Lincoln reaches up to run a hand over Lee’s mouth and his tongue darts out to taste Lincoln’s fingers. It’s technically a breach of protocol, but he’s too wrung out to make a correction. He touches Lee gently, the line of his neck, the bruise on his hip.

Lee is satiated, sprawled out across the bed, eyes still closed. But he still finds strength to talk. "May I...ask for one thing?"

That’s a breach too, but they’re long past technicalities at this point. "Ask."

"Would you kiss me?"

It's funny, a little, that this is what undoes him, that shatters his last pretense of control. Lincoln raises himself to his knees to face this man, his other self, and leans in. The kiss is soft and sweet and like coming home.

"I'm going give you one last command, and then I'll say the word and we're done." Lee nods. Lincoln says a few words, and then the final one.

Lincoln Lee opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Sometimes" by Erasure. The whole song is relevant.
> 
> The Lincolns sing "Nature Boy" lyrics from _Moulin Rouge._
> 
> This fic damn near broke me. Of course, that means there will be a follow up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout is fair play. Thanks again to sam for beta!

When Captain Lee crosses over to Lincoln's world for his first official visit, it's clearly on a flimsy pretext.

It’s probably similar to the flimsy pretext Lincoln uses to commandeer Lee’s presence on a routine consultation. They both manage to maintain a veneer of professional behavior, at least in public. But Lincoln drags out the meeting until there’s no sense in sending Lee back to the bridge so late, so clearly it only makes sense for him to stay overnight at Lincoln’s place. 

No one questions the suggestion, and that’s a good thing, because Lincoln couldn’t have hidden his motive if he’d tried. Lee either, for that matter. It’s frankly kind of ridiculous, a little high-school-secret-romance, except this isn’t a romance. What this is...is something a whole lot kinkier than that.

What this is, Lincoln still hasn’t quite figured out yet. But he’s willing to give it another shot.

They go for dinner this time, not just beer, but both of them know precisely where the evening is headed. There really is something, Lincoln thinks, about being with someone with whom pretense is completely and utterly pointless. A kind of relief in just being able to stop pushing his fork around on his plate and catch Lee’s eye. "I wanted to ask..."

"Ask," Lee says in the same tone Lincoln used last time, and it's like the man has already read his mind. But then, he wouldn't have to stretch too far to arrive at the same point.

"I want to try again. What we did last time. Only you...."

"You want me to be in charge." Lee's eyes are calm meeting his, gently amused. "I can do that. Not as well as the other part, but...."

Lincoln laughs, a little shakily. "That's fair. I'm not sure I'll be able to do this, either."

"That's what the safe word is for. And we can stick to the same parameters, okay? You don't get to ask for anything or do anything unless I tell you, and you'll trust that I won't abuse the privilege."

It would only be equitable, really. And he needs to agree before he talks himself out of it. "I-- yes."

Lee grins suddenly. "This'll be _fun._ "

Lincoln’s pretty sure that it will.

***

Lincoln's apartment isn't half as nice as Lee's condo, but he's done the best he can with what he's got. Astrid and Olivia teamed up to buy him some housewarming presents, so at least all his towels match. 

"Safe word?" Lee asks the moment they step through the door, and Lincoln has to laugh at his eagerness. He's feeling a little bit...antsy himself.

"Hartford."

"The place you don't want to go back to," Lee says, looking pleased at his own understanding. "That'll work."

It's not exactly what Lincoln was thinking; it's more like the place that he _can't_ go back to, given how much he now knows the truth about the shape of the world. Worlds. But close enough. "Glad you approve. Lincoln--"

"Kal," Lee says with a gleam in his eye.

Lincoln rolls his eyes. "Really, still on that? And no, not until we start. I was going to say, I-- this--" he stops, fumbling for words, and then lets the thought roll out unfiltered. "Why aren't you more freaked out by this? The whole doppelganger thing?"

"I know who I am," Lee says softly. "You're not me. You're someone who happens to _look_ like me, lucky for you, and we happen to have a lot in common. Not everything, obviously."

"Obviously," Lincoln says dryly. But Lee's clear perspective snaps everything into focus.

Lee shrugs. “At worst we might both be guilty of some kind of narcissistic personality disorder, but really, who’s it hurting?”

“Well, if that’s all,” Lincoln says, in that same dry tone, but he’s smiling now because-- because this alternate _him_ is impossible not to smile at, not to like, and that makes him feel better about himself in some odd way. A vain exercise, maybe, but beneficial nonetheless.

"Okay, then. Close your eyes and strip," Lee says, and Lincoln obeys immediately. "Rules you already know, but-- oh, this one too. You're not allowed to keep quiet. I want to hear you."

This part of it is easy: stripping down, waiting to feel Lee's hands or mouth on him. Not being able to see is frustrating, but Lincoln’s other senses compensate. He holds out his glasses and feels them taken from his hand, and a faint sound as they’re laid carefully on the table.

Lee's voice almost startles, close and warm in his ear. "I'm afraid I'm not as...controlled as you. Also, I cheat."

Lincoln licks his lips. "I'm...forewarned?"

"For whatever good it'll do you." Lee drops a light kiss on his mouth, then takes his hand. “C’mon.”

Lee pulls him and Lincoln stumbles a little, then follows in what's clearly a path toward the bathroom. Maybe Lee thinks he’ll be more comfortable if he mirrors what they did last time? Or--

Lincoln takes a deep breath and mentally kicks himself to stop analyzing. It’s not his role here, he’s deliberately supposed to _not_ be thinking. He’s just supposed to just...go with it.

Harder than it seems, at least for him. 

He hears the shower turn on while Lee mutters something under his breath about primitive facilities. Lee moves him under the spray and crowds in next to him, body pressing up against his, though the shower isn’t _that_ small. But Lee doesn’t seem to want to waste the opportunity for full-body contact and Lincoln isn’t about to complain about that at all.

And Lee-- Lee kisses him, licking into his mouth like a lover, sucking on Lincoln’s tongue until he’s breathless between the kiss and the spray in his nose. They’re pressed tight together, identical erections hard against each others’ bellies, and that’s even before Lee really starts to touch him, his soap-slick hand sliding down Lincoln’s back, between his ass cheeks, over his balls and straining cock, up over his chest and coming to rest over his heart.

“Beating fast,” Lee murmurs. “Nervous?”

Lincoln chokes on a laugh. “I-- no? No.”

“Just turned on, then. Me too.” Lee grinds against him for emphasis. Lincoln feels teeth closing on his earlobe, then a tongue soothing the tiny sting. “I’m so glad you decided to trust me, Clark.”

Lee rinses them off, gives a few cursory swipes with a towel, and literally leads Lincoln by the hand into his own bedroom.

"Couple of things I wanted to do last time, you didn't give me a chance." He can _feel_ Lee's grin. "Now you don't have any choice. I mean, unless you really want to call it quits. But you shouldn't."

Lincoln finds himself positioned on his belly, pillow under his stomach, and he does honestly have a fleeting moment’s thought about the safe word before he feels Lee's hands begin to stroke over him. He can always say it...later...if he needs to.

He feels Lee's mouth on the small of his back and then sliding lower, hands spreading his ass, and Lincoln cries out helplessly as Lee's tongue swipes over his entrance. 

"Yeah. Thought so." Lee sounds so damn smug but God, he doesn't care. "Hold tight."

There's nothing to hold to as Lee licks at him, fucks him with his tongue until he's trembling. How Lee knew this was what he wanted, without his being able to ask...that's _easy,_ just a matter of what Lee himself likes. It's terrifying, how quickly that kind of instinctive understanding could become an addiction.

" _Now_ you're ready."

He's turned over, and Lincoln gasps as he feels Lee’s mouth on his cock, licking gently around the dripping head and then lips sliding down over him. With his eyes closed it could be anyone sucking at him, but it’s not. Lincoln can’t deny the knowledge that it’s his mirror-image self, who knows exactly what he wants. He doesn’t want to deny it.

Lincoln nearly wails his frustration when the mouth pulls away. He hears Lee going through his bedside drawer, the click of a cap and a sharp hiss and tearing of foil before that's all overrun by the feeling a condom being smoothed over his cock and then Lee's weight settling over him.

"I told you, I cheat." Lee presses himself down and Lincoln wasn't ready for this, not at all, but the safe word is the furthest thing from his mind. Lee goes slowly enough so he doesn’t hurt himself, but the sound of his harsh breathing and the feel of him sliding down inch by slow inch has Lincoln fisting his hands in the sheets and fighting every impulse not to buck up. He belatedly remembers Lee’s other command and opens his mouth, barely recognizing the sound that tears out of his own throat: wanton, needy, and unrestrained.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Lee breathes, and slides down all the way. “You should see yourself like this, it’s unreal. And you feel--” he lifts a little and pushes down again, fucking himself on Lincoln’s cock. “Perfect.”

“Narcissist,” Lincoln gasps, and jerks as Lee pinches his nipple. “Oh--”

“Yeah,” Lee says, low, and leans forward. “Hell with this. Open your eyes, dammit.”

It feels like a boundary being crossed and Lincoln hesitates, but Lee is adamant. “Hartford, Lane, I told you I suck at this. Open your eyes and see yourself.”

Lincoln Lee opens his eyes.


End file.
